Dissimulation
by Dorminchu
Summary: Some secrets don't keep well. Two-shot. T for Hitch's language.


**_Dissimulation_**

_Some secrets don't keep well. T for language._

_One: Hitch_

* * *

><p>Annie Leonhardt was the first and last of the new Military Police members to come directly from the depths of hell that was Trost. Hitch's initial impression of the girl was less than favorable; her opinion was only reinforced during the first week on the job. It was quickly established that Annie was not, by any means, remotely sociable. She seldom talked to her (or anyone else, really), and when she did respond, it was more often than not in the form of a curt, monosyllabic answer.<p>

Hitch had since adopted the private opinion that her new roommate was either incapable of holding simple conversation, or else just as indifferent as their officers.

Despite this discouraging start, Hitch found herself growing fond of the girl, much in the same way one grew accustomed to that particular way a family portrait hung on the wall. Annie meanwhile, remained cold and distant.

Their first real conversation occurred on the morning of the Scouting Regiment's 57th Expedition.

Annie was sitting on her bunk, fully dressed and impassive as always. Hitch walked across their room to the bedside table, clad in an undershirt and pants. The fabric clung to her skin, still slightly damp from the shower.

"Hitch."

Hitch felt the cold atmosphere in the air thin between them. Or perhaps she was just drying off. She remained quiet for a while, utterly bemused that Annie Leonhardt had actually addressed her. When she felt the satisfaction had sunk in long enough, she turned, grinning slyly.

"About time you learned how to talk."

Annie ignored her.

"I don't suppose it would be too much to request a favor of you?"

Hitch snorted, sorting through a few sets of civilian wear. "Nah. You don't bother me, I don't bother you, so we're even s'far as I'm concerned."

"Then would you report me as sick tomorrow?" Hitch raised her eyebrows, shirt halfway down her body.

"If you've got something to do, you could just take care of it now. We've got the day off for a reason, you know."

"I'd prefer to wait." Hitch allowed herself another pause.

"Suit yourself. You fancy making yourself useful?" Hitch took a sheet of paper from her dresser and held it out to her. "Karoline Stratmann. She's been missing for a while now." She shrugged. "I expect you'd get more out of it than I would. Favor for a favor." As Hitch straightened the last of her outfit, she heard the creak of the bed and footsteps. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Annie pass through the doorway. Unable to contain her burning curiosity she blurted: "Who is it, then?"

Annie paused.

"You have business." Hitch elucidated. "Who are you meeting?" Annie glanced back at her, a faint smirk on her face.

"A fifteen-meter class Titan."

Hitch held a pause for the third and longest time that morning. Then she laughed.

"Well, I didn't know you could joke! Not a very good joke, but–" She turned.

Annie was already gone.

The day passed without much thought. It ended much the same as usual; Annie returned to the dorm, having succeeded in the assignment given to her.

The next day, Hitch wrote her down as ill, as per request. She did not see the girl throughout the entire day, and, as night descended and a terrific storm brewed, slept restlessly.

* * *

><p>Hitch woke a few hours later to the sound of an incessant rapping on the window. Wearily she blinked, rose, and stumbled her way to the windowsill.<p>

She looked outside to see sheets of frigid rain coming down in waves. A flash of lightning and a clap of thunder illuminated the lone figure parting the torrent. Hitch regarded this figure for a moment through the bleary eyes of half-consciousness, then realization struck her. She wrenched the window open.

"Where the hell have you been?" She hissed. "For God's sake, Annie, it's two in the morning!" Annie did not address her. In fact, she did not look up, but drew her water-logged cloak tighter about herself and stepped into the room. Fuming, Hitch leant around her returning roommate and slammed the window shut to stifle the howling wind and rain. "Honestly," she muttered, "if I'd known you were going to be _this_ much trouble, I would have asked for another roommate. I mean―" Hitch turned, watching her gradual and oddly stiff progression to her own bed. "―you might as well have told me you were..." She faltered as Annie swayed on the spot before her.

And then she collapsed with a wet, muted _thump_.

"Shit!" Hitch rushed over to her. "Uh, Annie?"

Annie didn't respond. Swearing under her breath, Hitch lifted the unconscious girl under her arms and hauled her onto the bed. She fumbled with the clasps of her water-logged cloak for a few seconds before it came loose, and she was able to extricate the girl.

Annie's uniform was torn and burnt in multiple places. Her exposed skin was raw, and covered in a thin, unidentifiable film. When she made to remove her tattered clothes, Annie made a sharp, pained noise, and Hitch decided to leave it be for the moment. Even more strange were the reddish, ridge-like markings marring the sides of her face, spanning down her neck and shoulders.

_Great. I guess _you're_ my responsibility now._

With a half-glance back at the door, Hitch laid a hand upon her forehead, only to immediately wrench her hand back with a yelp of pain.

"Ow-shit!" She stared in confusion at the girl before her.

"What...?" Her fingers stung pink where they had touched her brow, and her mind was buzzing. An idea clicked into place.

_Going to need more towels._

She stood up, clutching her smarting hand and headed for the bathroom. Upon her return, she found Annie mumbling incoherently. She sounded terrified. Hitch was more than a little unnerved now, but she placed the towel and bucket of cold water down, then dragged the chair from the dresser over to the bed. Without much pause, she took one of the towels, immersed it within in the cold water and placed it upon the other girl's forehead. It steamed as it made contact with her fevered skin, and Annie made another, unintelligible sound.

"Hey. It's...it's alright." She muttered lamely, unsure of what she was supposed to say. Inside, she thought: _What _are _you?_

Hitch placed a hand upon her shoulder in an awkward attempt at reassurance.

"F-Fath...uhh." Annie moaned feebly. Hitch stared at her.

"What?"

The girl trembled.

"M-Mis...I failed the miss..." She curled into herself with a whimper. "Can't...I _can't_ com'back..." Hitch continued to stare at her, curiosity overtaking discomfort.

"Uh..._why_ can't you, uh, come back?"

"I...I failed." She gave a small, pathetic snort. "...M'sorry, Father."

Hitch lifted her hand from her shoulder, feeling uneasy. The girl before her did not at all resemble the cold, impassionate girl she knew, wracked with quiet sobs, mumbling apologies to a father that could not hear her. _Does she think __I'm_ _her father or something?_

"H-hey. It's...it's alright now. You don't have to apologise." She took her hand on the pretense of checking her pulse, but Annie gripped it tightly and would not let go. With a sigh of weary acceptance, Hitch sat back.

"I can't _believe_ I'm doing this." She muttered, more to the window than anything.

For two hours, the fever persisted. Hitch wondered if a doctor would believe her story. But the pain in her seared hand was all she had to remind herself she wasn't dreaming. Eventually, Annie fell asleep, and so did Hitch.

* * *

><p>The morning afterwards, Hitch awoke to find that Annie had released her hand. Stifling a yawn, she got up and shuffled out the door with a request in mind.<p>

When she came back, Annie was awake and sitting up, head bowed.

"Ahah, you're alive after all!" Hitch exclaimed, a little too cheerful as she made her way over to her. "I took the liberty of reporting you as ill again, so you won't have to―"

"_Hitch_." Annie cut her off. "Did...did I say anything last night?" Her voice was quiet, raspy, but she looked at her in a way she had never done before. Caught off guard by this show of emotion, Hitch preoccupied herself by studying a cup on the bedside table before she answered.

"Nothing I could make out." She smirked. "Though it _would've_ been funny if you said your boyfriend's name or something." The tension in Annie's shoulders eased.

"...Oh." She sat back. Hitch replaced the cup, and was about to leave the room when she heard a movement, then a sharp hiss of pain. She turned in alarm; Annie had succeeded in casting aside the bloody linen, and was now in the process of raising her legs over the bed, teeth gritted.

Hitch was no doctor, but in the light of the late morning it was hard to ignore the way her tattered uniform stuck to her body, caked with dry gore and the same, unidentifiable substance. Her legs were still burnt and slightly swollen. Hitch tried to roll her eyes, but could only gawk at her struggling roommate.

"You're trying to get up already? I put you down as sick for a _reason_, you know―"

Annie held up a hand to silence her.

"Thanks, Hitch. I appreciate it. But if you don't mind―" She leant forward, gradually testing her weight and wincing again, "―I'd like to be alone now."

Hitch, meanwhile, found herself at a complete loss for words as the other girl grimaced, then slowly rose on unsteady legs and quickly gripped the side of the bed, cursing; she looked even more emaciated than she had last night. Eventually, she realized Annie was watching her as if waiting for her to leave and quickly recovered.

"Uh...s-sure. Call me if you need anything, alright?" Annie nodded stiffly. Hitch turned, in total preparation to leave this time, when she looked back.

Her back was visible and she could see a few stains where blood had congealed, then dried beneath her body.

But she left as requested, unsure what to think, but quite sure that whatever these events meant, it would be in both of their best interests to keep this quiet. Thus, she requested that she would be allowed to bring her ill roommate all the necessary provisions. This appeal was met with a joke about her reliability, but was granted, nevertheless.

When she returned to their dorm, she headed first towards the bed, with the mind to remove the bloodied linen. Upon touching the sheets, she noted they were quite warm, as if Annie still occupied the bed. With a noise of disgust, she balled them up into a heap and left it by the bathroom door, then, with an exaggerated sigh, she traipsed back to the little chair she'd pulled up the night before and sank into it.

_What are you afraid of?_

She knew there was no way she would be getting an answer.

Then again, perhaps it was better this way.

* * *

><p><em>AN: The picture for the cover, as well as a big part of my inspiration for writing this story can be found in this translated comic, HERE (remove the periods!): h.t.t.p.:././.p.l.a.i.n.-.d.u.d.e...t.u.m.b.l.r.c.o.m./.p.o.s.t./.91643922683/burning-fingers-hitch-annie_

_The rest came from my own headcanons and the Visual Novel, "Goodbye Wall Sina". That Tumblr link also has a partial translation of that. I'd recommend checking it out!_


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